“Avery Nesbitt,” he said, his voice dripping with formality, “you’ve been summoned to appear for questioning at the Office of Political Unity and Security.”
“Summoned?” she repeated in a voice that was nowhere near as indignant as she had wanted it to be. “By whom?”
He ignored her question and continued in the same no-nonsense voice he had used before. “Should you decline this summons to appear voluntarily, you will be found in violation of three different statutes—”
“Oh, well, that sort of negates the whole voluntary thing, doesn’t it?” she said sarcastically.
“—and you will be brought in to the nearest OPUS office for questioning by an agent working for OPUS who is familiar with the charges against you.”
“Charges against me?” Avery said indignantly. “What charges? You said I wasn’t under arrest! I want to see these alleged ‘charges.’ In writing.”
Again he ignored her and continued. “And since I am such an agent—”
“Says a piece of paper that could have come out of a box of Cap’n Crunch,” she pointed out.
“—not to mention exceptionally good at bringing in people who violate statute—” he went on relentlessly.
“Oh, no ego on you, pal, is there?”
“—then that leaves me with no choice but to bring you in for questioning involuntarily.”
“I object!” Avery shouted. Mostly because she had no idea what else to say.
“Your objection is noted.”
“Oh, well, thank you so much for that measly considera—”
She was never able to finish what she had planned to say because Santiago Dixon—or whoever the hell he was—stepped forward and curled his fingers easily around her upper arms. And that, if nothing he’d said tonight, finally shut Avery up, because where she had expected roughness, he was gentle instead. When he pulled her to standing, it wasn’t with animosity but with concern. And when he tugged her away from the couch, that was done gently, too.
And if she hadn’t been silenced already, having her body pulled flush against his like that would for sure have done it. Because instead of manhandling her like a criminal, Santiago Dixon held her the same way he might have held a woman he intended to kiss. Her mouth went dry at the realization.
But she didn’t have time to think about that. And she didn’t have time to notice, either, the way his hard, muscular torso felt pressed against her own soft one or how upon contact her own traitorous body surged forward to meet his. Nor did she have time to marvel at how her struggles this evening with Santiago Dixon were the closest thing she’d had to a sexual encounter for a decade. Her mind was too scrambled, because he wrapped his fingers firmly—intimately?—around her waist. Then she couldn’t think at all, because he lifted her off the ground and threw her over one shoulder. Then he started to walk toward the front door. Then he opened the front door. And then, with Avery still slung over his shoulder, he walked through it.
Or at least tried to.
But there was one potential outcome for the situation tonight that he hadn’t considered, and that moment was when it kicked in.
Santiago Dixon hadn’t counted on the fact that Avery Nesbitt was totally whack.
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